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Sindria was a country of vibrant color, humid climate and eternal sunshine. People with sun-kissed skin, dressed in light cotton fabrics roamed its streets; merchants selling fruits, herbs and spices, gold and silver trinkets to friendly passerby. Young women in revealing gowns with flowers in their hair ran about, chased by their lovers in youthful innocence. Children's laughter, instead of wailing and mourning, filled the streets of this country.
Unlike her people, his people loved their ruler.
King Sinbad was a captivating man - handsome and glorious, eloquent and charming; he possessed the ability to lure people, to talk away their problems as if they had never even existed. He was exquisite and bewitching and infatuating, obviously educated in the ways of the world, powerful enough to even earn the grace of the mightiest.
Wooing her had been a simple task; kind words, delicate touches and glances which entrapped even the most headstrong of women - her included - had been enough to make her succumb to his irresistible allurement.
"Za'nyah, my love," he said warmly; lean arms wide open as he walked towards the still foreign Queen of an allied nation. "You look even more enchanting tonight than usual."
Sinbad's golden eyes glistened in the setting evening sun; an enrapturing smile on his sinful lips. Bracelets and heavy, ostentatious necklaces jingling with every kingly movement as he approached Sindria's future queen, taking her elegant, dainty hand into his to pull her lithe body into a proprietorial embrace.
"Has everything been to your liking?" Sinbad mumbled softly against her cinnamon-scented silvery white hair. "If there are any complains, do not hesitate to tell me."
Za'nyah pulled away slightly, arching her back and locking eyes with him. "My Lord, how could I ever complain about your offerings? You have laid the entire world at my feet; what else is there I could ask for?" she spoke in a voice as warm and artificially sweet as honey, yellow eyes half-lidded in humble seductiveness.
Loosening his tight hold around her wasp waist, sliding it gently down the curve of hip, the glorious king shook his head slightly. "You do praise me too much, my Queen. I only give to you what you truly deserve."
A smile graced lips painted claret; feline eyes, black-rimmed, lightning up in fake gratitude.
This was a theatrical performance, sincere enough for its spectators, yet too artificial to make both lovers fall for its sweet pretense.
Sinbad, High King and Overlord of the Seven Seas, was a cunning and sly man, too devious and terrifyingly charming for it to be healthy.
Za'nyah, widowed Queen of a desert country, was a beautiful and bewitching woman but powerless in regards of ruling D'hahabi on her own.
She needed Sinbad, and he knew.
⑉
Sharp, pointed fingernails dug into chiseled shoulders enveloped by liquid gold, their skin blemished and scarred with remnants of countless past battles he had fought for the sake of his beloved country and allies. Faded burns caused by frequent usage of metal vessels littered the entirety of his warrior's body, rendering her illusion of his innate flawlessness void every time she found his skin.
Clad in silken robes and adorned with glittering trinkets, Sinbad represented perfect impeccability, but once he was stripped off his glorious disguise and laid bare, he was rendered an ordinary human being - an ordinary human being just like anybody else.
Za'nyah wondered if she was the only women who had ever come to this quite simple conclusion.
Strong arms wrapped around her fragile middle as he thrust upwards with brute, desperate force. There was no romanticism in the way he made love to her; no tenderness or gentleness in his touches as he clawed at parts of her bronze-covered body.
Needy, labored breathing filled the air of his antechamber. He never invited her to his private chambers - a place too intimate to share with her; too holy to be sullied by a stranger's presence.
Though bright and welcoming, jovial and lavish to the outside world, Sindria's king was indeed a reserved and very personal man. There were ghosts on his mind nobody knew about, haunting him at night when nobody else was watching; tormenting him to the point of borderline insanity.
Wine and woman and leisurely bedroom hymns were the only cure for his constant ailment. Intoxication, curvaceous bodies and faux whispers of affection helped him to forget; and Za'nyah was no exception to his rule. Entering matrimony was just another coping mechanism, a ploy to appease his secret suffering in the nighttime, which, he knew, wouldn't last long.
Luscious lavender hair, longer than hers, felt smooth and pleasant underneath Za'nyah's touch as she raked her long fingers through its thickness. His scent, intoxicating - smelling of vibrant herbs and masculine charm - drowned out every remainder of her late husband which still lingered in the depths of her mind; erasing it entirely this time.
Za'nyah wasn't an innocent woman. She had her own demons to tame; and keeping them on a leash robbed her of all her strength.
Sindria's king was a master of manipulation and deceit, having his dark secrets and sins in check; he was indeed a man from whom she could learn much about pretense and faking glorious hypocrisy.
